Mundane Musings of a Meandering Mind

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What are we, but similar, distinct
Patterns in a platter of the same elements?
Why don’t we see a common conscious hint,
Despite the same fundamental blueprint?

The answers lie in the combinations –
All the attentive atoms which, unsure,
Arranged themselves in fashions
That fate has prepared the plans for.

So, is it fate that distinguishes you from me?
But isn’t fate just chaos and its entities,
And isn’t chaos just a set of unidentifiable, ordered patterns –
Patterns that decide to form you and me from inanimate matter?

As much as we love to ponder over life’s purpose, in tones hushed,
All we are, are egoistic, irrelevant, individual specks of dust.

To start this confession, I spent hours trying to come up with a good statement which would be able to help me describe poetry in its complete essence. Unfortunately, words were not of much help to me here. Only the experience of reading a well written poetry and the emotions it stirs up in you can convey what I wish to say.